


Familiar

by Darsynia



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Character Study, Episode Tag, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-12
Updated: 2007-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darsynia/pseuds/Darsynia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>On the ride over, it sat on the seat next to him, an image familiar in countless rides to and from practice, to and from a game.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> Eric Taylor on the way to the hospital.

On the ride over, it sat on the seat next to him, an image familiar in countless rides to and from practice, to and from a game. It had become an unacknowledged ritual, to have a football rolling around in the seat next to him, purposeless except for the potential his players could put into it. This one was marked, though, probably wouldn't get thrown or caught or beat up...

Just as he blocked out the rush of helplessness when the plays weren't workin', Eric stopped the comparison to Street before it could even begin. No point in those thoughts, and they weren't fair to Jason, that was for sure. He kept his eyes on the road, allowing the signal lights to swim a bit in front of him for a brief moment before putting that business away too. Taylor wanted to be neutral in there, caring. No hint of the post-game debrief with the town leaders—Jason was a smart kid, and any anger at all, he'd be sure to own it. Eric didn't want that, not at all. He made sure to keep that stuff away from the players, the way the football-hungry townsfolk nearly always seemed to joke about their ups and downs as a team more than a mortician would joke about—

No. None of that, either. Not a whiff.

He pulled into the parking lot and reached into the back for a duffel. He didn't think he could be alone with the ball on the walk in, no matter what affectionately crude messages the team had scrawled onto it. Not when every single person in that hospital would know what it was for, 'n look up at his eyes for reassurance. They would do that anyway, but the ball just upped the ante. Taylor coughed, then frowned. None of that.

The walk in was what he'd thought it'd be, a solid block of obstacles through which he had to nod, smile, and grimace. No one said anything. This was just fine with him, even with hearin' that they talked to each other just fine after he passed by. They weren't who he'd come to see, and they didn't know Street like he did—he'd look his coach in the eye sure as hell, always had, always would. The thought made Eric crack a smile as he rounded the corner and saw the school colors hung up on the right, across from the bed his quarterback was sure to hate being in.

Taylor's hands tightened on the bag's straps, but he didn't stop as he walked into the room—he refused to stop, even when the sight of the boy's neck brace brought it all back to him, worse than the visit the night before. The football's weight in the bag dragged at him until he looked at Jason's face, and sure enough, the young man's gaze never faltered once. Eric's smile came more easily now, and he couldn't help the wink as he drew nearer to the bed.

"Hey—how you feelin'," he asked softly, only looking away when the answer came, brave as he knew it'd be.

"Well... I'm not really feeling too much, right now..."

The wry laugh at the end of it was so right; no self pity, just a tiny hint at the regret they both knew was there. It was hard for Eric not to tell Street exactly what kind of a man he was right then—a long, honest half-hour's worth of praise was due—but now was not the time just yet. Instead, Taylor reached into the bag, needing to feel the familiar roughness of a football to ground him, needing to offer that familiar support in the best way he knew how—needing to see this young man's familiar smile again.


End file.
